Grains of Time
by NailBiter360
Summary: Amelia Bones narrowly escapes an early grave, and her near-death experience leads her to make a drastic decision.


Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Chaser 3

Save them: Amelia Bones

Bonus Prompts:

3\. (object) vase

12\. (dialogue) "Have you been crying?"

15\. (object) hourglass

Word count: 2804

* * *

Amelia Bones was often referred to as one of the greatest witches of her time. She'd always been talented, but she'd taken special care to ensure that she was also skilled. Discipline was the key to success, after all.

Her beliefs were simple and straightforward: treat others as you would like to be treated. That rule of behaviour obviously came with a few exceptions, notably towards people who had cruelty etched into their very soul. Still, she did her best not to lower herself to their level. There were times, though, when this was more difficult than others. For instance, when a small group of Death Eaters had broken into her home and had attempted to murder her, she'd found it very difficult to treat them with the dignity and respect one should accord to all human beings.

Two weeks had passed since the attack, yet she was still confined to her bed at St Mungo's, despite feeling much better. This much inactivity wasn't good for her. The checklist in her mind of things to do kept growing and growing as each hour passed, and she dreaded to think of all the paperwork waiting for her on her desk at the Ministry.

She'd attempted multiple times to convince the Healers to grant her an early release, but they refused to budge. They were under strict orders, apparently, but from whom, Amelia did not know. Cornelius Fudge was no longer Minister and thus no longer had the authority. Rufus Scrimgeour, the newly appointed Minister for Magic, didn't strike Amelia as the sentimental type who would worry about the welfare of his employees enough to take the time to give orders to Healers, especially when there was a war going on. That only left Albus Dumbledore, who had both the authority and the sentimentality to give such an order and ruin Amelia's regimented schedule.

Her brother kept insisting that she make the most of this time and learn to relax. She loved him dearly, but while she had inherited their parents' proactivity genes, he had not, and this often put them at odds with one another. It was for that reason that she had insisted that he leave and only return when the Healers agreed to discharge her.

She'd failed to realise that without her brother around to talk her ear off, she was left with no distractions at all, trapped in a sterile room without even a book for company. Unfortunately, being alone with her thoughts was the last thing she wanted at the moment. Without something else to focus on, her mind kept flashing back to the attack.

The deadly spells flashing her way had been easy to avoid. Few Death Eaters were known for their skill, after all. Most had only joined You-Know-Who's side because they enjoyed hurting people. She was more skilled than all of them combined, and even though they'd outnumbered her, she'd been winning. Until _he_ had arrived—You-Know-Who himself. Her death had seemed like a certainty then, but she'd refused to go down without a fight.

All things considered, the fact that she'd survived had been less about skill and more about sheer dumb luck. She'd tripped over an hourglass which had fallen to the floor during the scuffle, and in doing so had narrowly missed the Killing Curse that You-Know-Who had intended for her.

The hourglass had been a gift from her brother for her seventeenth birthday—a beautiful thing, simple and elegant; ornate but not enough so to be garish. It had shattered beneath her, lacerating her foot so badly that she'd very nearly bled out. If she had more faith in Divination, she might have taken it as a sign. A timepiece which she had lived by for years, whose grains of sand she had let dictate her every waking minute, had saved her life, but in doing so had left her with an injury that had hurt more than anything the Death Eaters had thrown at her. The hourglass had had to break to give her more time. If it had been a sign, she had an inkling as to what it might mean, but letting superstition tell her how to live her life felt far sillier than letting a schedule take charge.

Moments after her fall, more people had stormed into her house, but these ones had not been wearing masks, and neither had they worn Auror robes. The Death Eaters had fled at their arrival, taking their Lord with them, and the newcomers had promptly taken Amelia to the hospital.

She still wasn't sure who her saviours were—she'd been exhausted and had lost a lot of blood and hadn't gotten a good look at them. But she'd heard rumours over the past couple of years about a group of witches and wizards working to put an end to You-Know-Who. Similar rumours had circulated during the last war too. The Ministry had even made a statement renouncing all affiliation with the group and demanding that it cease its activities. Amelia herself hadn't approved of the underground resistance movement, but if what she suspected was correct, that hourglass wasn't the only thing to thank for her miraculous survival.

However, regardless of her continued good health, her mind kept replaying the scene and adding in 'what if' scenarios, none of which ended well for her.

She tried to keep herself busy, but her room was minimalistic and offered few distractions. The only possible outlet for her attention was a flower vase filled with carnations, a gift from her sister-in-law.

Amelia much preferred potted plants and didn't understand the desire for objects whose sole purpose was to be pretty. But she was glad for the vase as it gave her something to do. She'd spent her entire morning tending to the flowers and rearranging them until they were as visually pleasing as she could make them, then she'd started over again.

Her activity came to an end around midday when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a very good thing because after polishing the vase to a sparkling sheen, she was almost convinced that she was losing her mind.

Amelia opened the door and found her niece on the other side of it.

Susan was small for her age, taking after her mother, whom Amelia had once suspected was at least ¼ goblin. In all other aspects though, the girl looked like her father with a rounded face and lovely red hair which suited her far more than it had ever suited him. She was carrying a rather large basket and appeared to be struggling under its weight. Amelia doubted, however, that the heaviness of the basket was the cause for the watery smile her niece sent her way.

"Dad asked me to bring you some things," said Susan. "He said you were probably driving yourself mad with nothing to do all day."

Amelia pushed the door open further, inviting the young girl inside, away from the bustling corridor of the hospital. "That's very kind."

The sunlight streaming through the window allowed Amelia to get a better look at her niece than the wavering candlelight of the corridor had, and if the redness around the young girl's eyes was any indication, she had something on her mind.

"Have you been crying?" Amelia asked.

Susan gave a jerky little shrug as she set her basket on the bed and started pulling books and puzzles from it, setting them neatly on the bedside table.

Amelia was a firm believer in independence and letting others sort out their problems themselves, only intervening if they asked—or blatantly needed—help. However, she only had one niece left, and that child's well-being was the most important thing in the world to her. So she pressed the matter. "Susan?"

Having worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement since she'd left Hogwarts, and having interacted with all kinds of unseemly characters, prone to dishonesty, Amelia had developed a tone to deal with such people who were less than keen to tell the truth. It was the kind of tone which could break the will of a hardened criminal, so of course, her niece didn't stand a chance.

"You nearly died," Susan said, so quietly that Amelia nearly didn't hear her.

Amelia nodded slowly, realising that the 'what if' scenarios which had been playing over in her mind since the incident had also been plaguing her niece. "I'm alright, sweetheart," she said, gently brushing the girl's hair away from her face. "I'm right here."

Tears welled up in Susan's eyes, and before Amelia could say anything else, sobs wracked through the girl, and she threw herself into her aunt's arms.

"It feels like everyone around me is getting hurt," she cried. "First Cedric d-died, then Neville spent the last week of term in the hospital wing, now you… I'm scared."

"This war will be over soon," promised Amelia, desperately hoping that circumstances wouldn't turn her into a liar.

She remembered making a similar promise to her brother years ago. Shortly after, the war had indeed ended, but the cost had been too high. In those last few weeks of bloodshed, they'd lost both their parents, as well as their older brother and his entire family. As selfish as it was, Amelia would have taken another ten years of war in a heartbeat if it had meant getting her family back.

But that was then. And she promised herself that she would do everything within her power to make sure that Susan never went through what she had.

Susan's sobs quietened as Amelia continued to stroke her hair and whisper reassurances in her ear. When another knock rang through the room, the girl disentangled herself from her aunt's arms, rubbing the dried tears from her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said, her voice cracking from the strain of crying.

Amelia patted her cheek and turned to let her visitor in only to find that the door was already open. Albus Dumbledore stood in her hospital room wearing plum purple robes and a drooping wizard's hat which matched. It didn't matter how many times Amelia spoke with him at Ministry functions or parties; it always felt off seeing him outside of Hogwarts. While she'd been a student, she'd considered him to be a permanent fixture of the school. And even years later, seeing him outside those stone walls felt like watching the building itself get up travel South.

"Amelia, Susan," he said. "It's a pleasure seeing you both."

"You too, Professor," said Amelia. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

She'd never been one for small talk, and Albus knew this well. He smiled serenely and glanced at Susan. "Perhaps you could get us some tea from tearoom upstairs? I find that travelling by Floo always makes me very thirsty."

"Of course, Professor," said Susan, already scurrying out of the room, barely slowing down enough to shyly take the Sickles and Galleons he handed her.

The door closed behind her, and the room fell silent. Albus wandered over to admire her flower vase and appeared to be quite content to let the reason for his visit hang in the air a while longer.

Amelia was a patient woman, and under different circumstances, she might have waited him out. "Why are you here, Professor?"

"I imagine you're curious to know who saved you from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

Amelia did her best not to flinch at the name, but she failed. The instinct was so deep-rooted now that there was no getting rid of it. "I take it that you had something to do with it."

"I did. I have someone in Voldemort's ranks who informed me of his plans. I was able to get a team together with barely a second to spare, I'm told."

Amelia was not naive, nor was she fool enough to underestimate Albus Dumbledore. Everything he did, he did with reason. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I would have thought that were obvious. I assume you've at the very least heard rumours about the Order of the Phoenix."

The secret resistance movement against You-Know-Who. Of course, Albus Dumbledore would be the one behind it. "They're the ones who saved me."

"They are, and you aren't the only person whom we've helped. Many owe the Order their lives. During the last war, we did everything in our power to put an end to Voldemort's reign of terror, and now that he has returned we must do the same. Unfortunately, our numbers have dwindled since the last war. We've lost many to the cause."

Things were seldom straightforward where Professor Dumbledore was concerned, but she knew a sales pitch when she heard one. "Are you trying to recruit me, Professor?"

He gave her a long look as though he were examining her very soul. "Did you know that your brother, Edgar, was a member of the Order?"

Amelia blinked back her surprise. She hadn't known, hadn't even suspected. But upon reflection, perhaps she should have done. Edgar had always been going on about being more proactive in the war effort. "Is that why You-Know-Who killed him?"

"It is possible," he admitted. "But your brother was a very powerful wizard; he would have come to Voldemort's attention sooner or later, much as you have."

She turned away as her eyes began to sting as they so often did when she thought about the family she'd lost. Her gaze fell on the now-empty basket which still sat on her bed, and her mind wandered to Susan's tear-stained face and the promise she'd made herself to do whatever she could to save that girl from pain.

The Ministry had failed to stop You-Know-Who during his last rise to power despite a competent Minister. Scrimgeour was of a far harsher breed than Harold Minchum had been, but Amelia was beginning to doubt his chances of success. No one at the Ministry had been willing to believe that You-Know-Who had returned two years ago, instead choosing to demonise a young boy and his headmaster. But while Amelia and her coworkers had buried their heads in the sand, the Order of the Phoenix had been fighting tooth and nail to stop You-Know-Know. They had yet to be successful either, but at least they'd been doing something, and they were still trying to stop this war. Was that not what she'd promised Susan?

Albus stood silently, waiting for her to make a decision, and with a long exhale, she turned to face him. "Very well. Tell me more."

Her jaw was set, and her eyes burned with determination, and through that haze, she saw the Professor smile.

* * *

Albus was very pleased with himself. He left St Mungo's with a smile on his face and a skip in his step, commending himself for a job well done. It was always a delight when things went according to plan.

Sending a team of Order members to rescue Amelia Bones had been a dangerous move. Not only had he endangered the lives of those members, but he'd also risked losing his spy.

Severus had informed him of the plan to attack Amelia and had urged him to do nothing lest Voldemort discover that he had a traitor in his ranks. Had Voldemort targeted anyone else, Albus would probably have followed that advice. The good of the many had to outweigh the good of the few. It was a difficult decision to make, one that weighed down on Albus's soul, but it was how it had to be if this war was to be won.

Only last week, Severus had brought to his attention the danger that Emmeline Vance was in. But had Albus acted to save her, Voldemort would undoubtedly have learned the truth and killed Severus. Albus couldn't let that happen. He would mourn for Emmeline for the rest of his life, but for the time being, there were things to be done and recruiting Amelia Bones was a big step.

Emmeline had been a talented witch, eager to serve the cause, but Amelia was of an entirely superior calibre. Albus did not doubt that given a few more decades, she could become his equal. The Order needed her. So he'd made sure that she lived, and his gamble had paid off: none of his people had been harmed, Voldemort suspected nothing, and the Order now had a new member. Not to mention that it had boosted his team's morale to have a successful mission after so many failures and losses.

Severus still wasn't happy with having his neck put on the line like that, but Albus was convinced that he'd made the right choice.

Amelia would be of more use to him alive.


End file.
